


Rush Job

by parenthetical



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, PWP, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-03-04
Updated: 2007-03-04
Packaged: 2017-10-02 01:10:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/parenthetical/pseuds/parenthetical
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They have a few difficult hunts in a row, near-misses and demons who try to trick and taunt them, and it takes all their energy just to stay alive. When they fuck at all, it's swift and desperate, both their minds half on what's going on around them, attuned to every strange noise and suspicious shadow.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Rush Job

**Author's Note:**

> Once upon a time, I was lazing around in bed, beta-reading Zooey_Glass's awesome fic for the rimming challenge, and trying to focus on punctuation and the like despite the extreme, brain-melting hotness. Eventually, my brain just overloaded and died, and I had no choice but to write her a missing scene based on one particular line, which I've quoted here for the summary. She told me I should post it, and performed her usual awesome beta-fu on it, too. Thanks, my love! Strictly speaking, you don't need to have read [Zooey's fic](http://zooey-glass04.livejournal.com/36386.html) to understand this, but you should go read it anyway because it is HOT LIKE THE SUN.

Times like these, Sam can hardly keep his hands off Dean, even though it's an indulgence they can't really afford. Somewhere outside there are demons hunting them, and neither he nor Dean will sleep tonight - instead they'll sit awake waiting for daylight, shotguns and holy water close at hand.

Sam knows they can't risk getting distracted, but he also knows that if Dean had been a split-second slower hitting the ground tonight, Sam would never have gotten the chance to kiss him ever again, and that thought is unbearable. So the second the door's shut, he slams Dean up against it and kisses him roughly, desperately, even as he rifles through his own pockets for a packet of salt. Dean kisses him back, his lips fervent against Sam's.

There's a _snick_, and though it's not a particularly loud sound, Sam's enough on edge that it makes him jump, pull back from the kiss to look around for the cause. Dean's hand releases the door key and reaches up to curl hot against the nape of Sam's neck, hauling him back down for another kiss, and Sam goes willingly now he realises it was just the sound of Dean locking the door.

"Salt," Dean mumbles against his lips after a moment.

Sam groans into the kiss and pulls back reluctantly. He hates... he hates that Dean's still so coherent right now. He wants nothing more than to kiss him and fuck him until Dean loses it, until he forgets his own name and screams Sam's. But that oblivion and loss of control is another luxury they can't really afford at the moment. If they don't stay alert, chances are they won't live to see daybreak.

He finds the packet of salt he'd been looking for and reaches out, slipping his left hand around to the small of Dean's back and pulling him flush against him, away from the door, so Sam can spread the salt right along the very edge of the doorway. Dean doesn't resist, just presses closer, warm and alive in Sam's arms, tilting his head to the side so that Sam can see properly over his shoulder, and seizing the opportunity to mouth at Sam's neck, sucking and nibbling at the curve where it meets his shoulder.

Sam shudders and focuses on spreading the salt as fast as he can. It's hard to concentrate on making sure the line is unbroken, though, when Dean's hands have found their way beneath Sam's shirt and his nails are digging in slightly as his fingers trail their way up Sam's back.

Finally - _finally_ \- the salt line is complete, and Sam is for once overwhelmingly grateful that they're stuck in a motel room so crappy that there isn't even a window he has to secure. He slams Dean back up against the door, hearing it rattle with the impact, revelling in the way Dean's head snaps back to expose the vulnerable arch of his throat.

 

There's other things they ought to do to make the room more secure - holy water, sage, devil's traps - but their first and best line of defence is in place, and Sam can't hold back any longer.

He sucks at Dean's neck, nipping at the skin almost furiously, needing to mark him, to prove that Dean is still there, still alive, still _his_. Dean groans, head thumping against the flimsy door, and sets to work roughly tugging off Sam's clothes.

Sometimes Dean is a fucking genius tactician, Sam thinks, and follows his example. He manages to get Dean's shirt off and drag the t-shirt over his head, but evidently that brings his hands too close to Dean's mouth, because before Sam can move on to Dean's pants, his brother latches on to his hands, bringing them up to his mouth, and starts licking off the salt that Sam spilled over them in his hurry.

Sam doesn't even know what the noise he makes would be classified as: he's struggling to think about anything beyond Dean's tongue darting across his palm, lips dragging across his knuckles, mouth sucking in his fingers, and god, he needs Dean's mouth on his cock _now_.

Judging by the look in Dean's eyes, hot and dark, his brother has the same idea, and Dean's already sinking to his knees before Sam's mind clears enough to stop him.

"Dean - no, not here, the salt - c'mon -" He drags Dean up and away from their fragile salt line, and Dean growls in frustration but moves with him across the room to the nearest bed. The moment they're close enough, Dean kicks Sam's legs out from under him, so that Sam falls rather than sits down on the edge of the bed. But before Sam can find breath to protest - and frankly, he's not sure he would, because it's hot as hell, even if he'd never admit it - Dean goes to his knees and Sam's breath rushes out of him all over again.

He knows he's never going to get enough of this. He used to feel... not guilty, exactly, but... uneasy, about loving this so much: like he was somehow taking advantage of Dean. He's heard enough seedy men in seedier bars complimenting his brother's 'cocksucking lips', angling for more than just a game of pool, and Sam never wants to debase what he and Dean are together like that. It took a while for him to figure out how much Dean loves doing this with him, for him: loves watching Sam melt for him, loves holding Sam inside him, loves the taste and the rush and the reality of it. Sam doesn't feel guilty any more, just grateful.

He can see it in Dean's eyes now, as his brother's mouth closes slowly around him, and the heat that rushes through him is overwhelming. Dean's eyes say _I'm alive_ and _I've got you _and _I love you_, all the things he hardly ever needs to say aloud.

Sam wants to reach out to him, but his arms are barely holding him upright on the bed as it is. So he just clenches his hands around the comforter and watches, trying not to come ridiculously fast.

He moans when Dean takes out his own cock and starts jerking off, hard and fast, still sucking Sam. Moments like this, Sam wants to hold on to forever: moments when despite the fear and evil all around them, nothing can penetrate the glow they generate together, protection stronger than the salt line.

It can't last: Sam's already too far gone, and when Dean moans desperately around his cock and comes across Sam's legs and the side of the bed, Sam loses it, coming so hard he almost passes out, collapsing back onto the bed like his arms have turned to putty.

When he comes back to himself, he's lying fully on the bed, and Dean's hand is running gently through his hair.

"Holy water," Sam mumbles, forcing his eyes open.

"I took care of it," Dean says. "Everything's in place, Sammy." He doesn't tell him to relax, but his fingers don't leave Sam's hair.

Sam sighs. He knows why Dean got himself off rather than waiting for Sam return the favour, knows why Dean pulled himself together to finish off their defences while Sam was too fucked out to even move. Sam knows, and he gets it, but he still mourns the fact that, at times like this, intimacy is an indulgence.

"Get some sleep if you want," Dean offers quietly. "I'll keep watch."

Sam's almost tempted: he's tired and sated, and with Dean this close, he feels safe, like nothing will ever be able to touch them.

But he's not going to leave Dean to watch alone.

"Nah," he says, and forces himself to sit up. He misses Dean's hand when it falls away, and leans against his brother's shoulder, hoping he'll take the hint. "I'm good. 'Sides, I'm sure we can come up with a way to stay awake."

Dean's grin, when Sam glances over, is blinding. "Sounds like a plan."

_Yeah_, Sam thinks, stealing a kiss. _It does_.

And in the morning, once they've sent those demons back to hell, he plans to drag Dean back here and not let him up for air until the taste of Sam in his mouth is the only salt Dean can think of.


End file.
